Present

Dilapidated buildings stretching into the tainted horizon filled Marinette with a sense of emptiness. No matter how far she ran, how many turns she took, the sight remained the same. There was nothing. Storefronts were deprived of people, merchandise strewn across the floor and left to rot. No people, no bodies, no mementos, no life; nothing to suggest anyone had ever lived here in centuries.

To an uninformed observer, they'd think they were walking through an ancient ruin long since lost to time. Marinette had to keep reminding herself that, at best, that all this decay had taken hold of her home in under two years.

Overgrown roots sprouted from the earth's crust and entwined themselves around the street, a rancid rope wrapped around Paris' throat, choking out every spec of life until all that was left was rotten. It was as if the city itself had been akumatized.

When she began her trek, she'd hoped that she'd find her way home – deluding herself that she'd take one more right turn and she'd be in front of the bakery. Her parents would be at the door to greet her as if nothing had changed.

There was no such luck. In her absence, buildings had been erected, others had been demolished, layouts had been changed and turned on their sides. This unknown corruption of purple mud ripped many street blocks apart at their very foundations, leaving bottomless craters and streams of rot between them. This nightmare Paris might as well have been an entirely foreign world to Marinette's eyes.

Perhaps that was for the best. The more Marinette thought about it, the more her disappointment turned into dread; would she have been able to handle whatever had become of her home in this new world?

"I wouldn't, would I?" She said to herself under laboured breath, "Not alone."

Her right hand shook furiously, forcing her left to come down and squeeze it tightly. Her mind consoling her heart. She wasn't alone, not forever. Her friends, her family, her people were all out there, somewhere, still putting up a fight. Because her people were always fighters, that's why she trusted them with miraculous in the first place.

And her partner? He was the best fighter of them all. He'd probably act like he didn't even notice she was gone, make a joke about her having a long vacation and pretend he always knew she'd be back. 'Cus he'd know both of them wouldn't be able to stop themselves from bawling their eyes out in the middle of the battlefield if they didn't stop joking until they were alone.

She imagined him winking at her. 'What took you so long?', he'd say, and they'd fall back into their regular dynamic like nothing had changed. She'd be quietly jealous of whoever he gave the ladybug miraculous to, and he'd tease her mercilessly about it.

Now she found herself at the 'end' of her little island, a road that slopped straight off the cliff and plummeted into the abyss below. Squinting as she peered over the edge, she could make out more roots, more flesh than plant in texture, that stretched across the chasm. She presumed that they fed into the other landmasses she could make out in the distance.

She moved back, trying to find a better vantage point, but her foot snagged on a smaller root and she was sent stumbling to the ground. The nasty thwack that accompanied her head smacking against concrete was almost drowned out by the painful ringing in her ears, leaving Marinette blinking back tears and coughing up dust.

As she held her head in place, fighting against her waning vision, her eyes caught something glinting through the rubble beside her. It was a glimmer of red, which, in a world of dark, muddy colours, stood out like a beacon. She didn't know what she was expecting to find, maybe she was just desperate for anything at this point, but she pulled her body forward on hands and knees towards the pile.

Marinette pulled aside bricks and rubbish, uncovering more red material buried under it all. On closer inspection, the red was faded, and scuffed, but still bright to her eyes. After more obstacles were removed, the red was splattered with black spots. Pokadots.

A minute later, her suspicions were confirmed; it was the pattern of Ladybug's costume. Standing back to appraise her discovery, her mind was able to piece together enough of what was visible to imagine different parts of her body under the rubble, completing the image in her mind of a Ladybug statue.

"Must have made a new statue after my death…" She mused, crouching down by the statue, sweeping aside some grime to unveil the head. Only she found something that made her eyebrows furrow. "Hang on…"

Writing. There was writing, in spray pain, over her face.

Clearing out more dust, her own face was laid before her, but as a distorted reflection in a funhouse mirror. The proportions had been warped, not by artistic license, but by blunt force. Dents dotted her features like pimples, evidence of something heavy smacking against her cheek, breaking through where her eye should be and flattening her nose.

And the writing itself perfectly dissuaded any ideas that this wasn't vandalism.

LADYBUG LIED TO US.

She ripped away her hand as if burned, scrambling away from the statue, from her fallen image. But no matter how much distance she crossed, the words were all she could see. A bright, perfect image seared into her mind, painted with blood on her hands.

How did it go? A voice in the back of her head taunted. The truth will always come out eventually?

It could have been any old lie, she told herself. It didn't even have to be a lie at all. It could have just been something stupid someone took out of context, or pulled out of thin air, or something Lila threw out now that Marinette wasn't there to defend herself.

That's what she told herself, what allowed her to get up and leave the message behind her. She couldn't focus on that nonsense; it would only serve to distract her.

She just needed to find her people. Find Chat. Find Tikki.

Tikki's magic, it could repair the town, purify the akumas. The miraculous cure would put everything back together. Together, they could do anything. Together, they could fix all this.

Hours later Marinette was back behind the walls of the mansion, slumped over against the front door, trying to ignore how hard it was to stomach the air. The shredded skin of her back had yet to dull the pain, and her amateur bandage wrapping did nothing to alleviate the itching, making every step an exercise in biting back squeals.

Worst of all, she could hear her stomach grumbling, her nose reaching back in her memories for the sweet odour of Gabriel's wretched pancakes.

But she didn't head towards the kitchen and it's cupboard of rancid preserves tainted by Gabriel's touch. Her hunger wasn't that desperate, and she had no intention of entertaining another sickening exchange with the super villain in a human skin suit.

Instead, she dragged herself up the staircase, racking her memories for the mansion's layout. There was one room in particular she had in mind, but she couldn't remember exactly where it was. Sure, she'd spent many days in this mansion on dates and sleepovers, but those activities never really took her to rooms other than the living room and the bedroom.

It took a few minutes of poking her head through random doors, stumbling upon an array of furnished guest rooms she never knew existed, before reaching her target. She assumed it was a sort of trophy room, a long stretch of glass cages protecting artifacts, paintings and mementos that the Agreste family had accumulated over the course of many adventures around the world.

She was looking for something to defend herself with, something that looked like it might actually hurt the creature below. And she figured a room of ancient treasures had a good chance of having something she could use.

On a better day she'd move through the room with caution and reverence, respectfully taking in the years of history proudly set on display. But she didn't have that luxury anymore, eyes sweeping over urns, jewels, tablets and scrolls without more than a glance. As she passed, she dropped down to scoop up a satchel she recognised as Nathalie's, one that the woman had once shown off to Marinette in this very room. She remembered Nathalie beaming with pride as she showed off the different tools she'd kept in the bag, how they were from her more adventurous days globe trotting around ancient ruins.

The only object to briefly give her pause was a collection of photos, snap shots of the very exhibitions that brought these artefacts here in the first place.

There was Gabriel, Nathalie and Emilie, always standing in front of some great structure, or holding up their features artifact; a surprising amount of them showed Gabriel looking into the camera sheepishly as Emilie and Nathalie laughed at him for some unknown joke. Gabriel looked like an entirely different person in these pictures, almost human. He was caked in mud, his clothes ruffled, his fingers bruised, marks of a life lived. A far cry from the corpse wrapped in sterile perfection.

Where had that man gone, she wondered. Or had he ever truly existed in the first place? Had Adrien's mother been fooled by a mask all this time?

One final photo remained, tucked into the corner of the desk under a stack of journals, almost as if it was intentionally hidden. Curiosity compelled her to scoop the photo up, blowing off a layer of dust and holding it up to the light streaming through the window.

Another line up of threes. Gabriel and Nathalie, the youngest they'd ever looked in this collection, stood atop a rocky landscape, huddled together on the right side of an opening in the ground. Squinting, she was surprised to see the butterfly broach dangling from young Gabriel's neck. Marinette could just glimpse the makings of a stairway descending into the hole, and the symbol of the guardians engraved into the wall behind them.

The third person, however, was not Emilie. It was a man, a tall and broadly built man with tufts of silver peaking over his forehead, standing alone on the other side of the photo. His jacket was caught in mid-flutter, one arm firmly holding his cowboy hat in place against what Marinette assumed was strong wind.

He stared solemnly off the edge of the photo, something behind the camera drawing his ire. His pose made his left side more prominent, allowing Marinette's eyes to easily observe a very familiar book tucked into his arm; the guardians' grimoire.

Turning the photo over, she found large, bold scribbles informing her that the photo was of 'Tibet - First Expedition – 1995'. A note below that title, written by Gabriel, read:

Nathalie's efforts never cease to amaze me. Her theory has brought us one step closer to a font of knowledge and untapped power. Colt won't breathe easy until we find Salvadore's fabled temple the grimoire spoke of, but I think this discovery is worthy of being called a milestone. I have to assume it's some sort of outpost for the order, which means we're on the right track.

I wish you could be with us to witness such sights with your own eyes. I doubt we'll find any trace of the so-called 'miraculous' in this expedition, my dear Emilie, but I endeavour to find something of enough curiosity to tide you over while you await my return.

Gabbi

Marinette turned her mind back to when she'd originally returned the grimoire to Gabriel, completely ignorant to how her original guess for Hawkmoth's identity was spot on. He'd mentioned picking it, and other undisclosed items she had to assume were the two missing miraculous, up in Tibet – which she'd find out later was the location of the guardian temple before it was consumed by Feast.

What gave her pause was that she remembered him strongly implying he was with Emilie when he made that discovery, not this unmentioned third person. And he seemingly already had the butterfly miraculous.

She shook head and dropped the photo, reminding herself that she was here for a reason, that any questions could wait. Grumbling to herself to hurry up, she moved swiftly through the room. Her instincts had been correct, there were plenty of sharp, oddly pristine looking implements that looked like they could give any threat a run for their money; and yet she passed over each other them. She kept shaking her head, feeling something not right no matter how much she told herself beggars couldn't be choosers.

That is, until she came across one specific display case.

It was hard to explain it to herself in a way that didn't make her sound stupid, but she could almost hear it calling to her, like a memory was suddenly unlocked. It was a long metal polearm fitted with a curved blade at it's head – the plaque below it called it a naginata, hailing from 12th century Japan and belonging to some woman, Haruka Kuga. Something about that name stuck out to her, like she knew it despite knowing she'd never heard of it in her life.

Before she knew it, her hands were eagerly pulling the glass case aside and taking the weapon into her hands. The naginata was a hefty thing to hold, standing almost as tall as her and weighed down by exquisite material. Yet it didn't feel too heavy, it felt just right, instinctively falling into an unknown stance with muscle memory she didn't know she had.

It was more than just an odd moment, or delusion, for her. She read the name over and over again, trying to pinpoint that feeling of familiarity that flowed through the weapon, receiving only brief flashes of distant shores and battlefields. But one image, only there for a fraction of the second, was all she needed; an image of a lady in red.

Was this the weapon of a former ladybug?

Her looked over the room once more, taking in the various artefacts she had so easily dismissed. One-by-one she found herself recognising various bits and pieces from the grimoire's depictions. Was everything in this room connected to the miraculous? Suddenly, she wasn't just scrounging around some expensive displays for a weapon, she was standing before a great history that most of the world would never know.

Suddenly, the room felt crowded. Every hero that came before her surrounded her, peering down through judgemental eyes, wondering if she were worthy of being part of their line.

Marinette couldn't get out of there quick enough.

When she returned to the main hall, running her fingers through sweaty locks, she found Gabriel had nestled himself in a cramped little corner. He sat atop one of the many pieces of furniture that had gotten tossed around in their chase with Senti-Sentry, not even bothering to reorientate it, his back leaning against the staircase railing. As Marinette passed, she spotted that he held an open book, just making out the title of 'Defective Machinery'.

"Back already?" She'd almost thought he'd let her pass without comment, but that was expecting too much of him.

"There's nothing out there," She told him, stopping, but not facing him. "Not that you care."

"I don't." The scrape of skin against paper as a page was turned. "Does this mean you're giving up now?"

"There's nowhere else to look, I'm going to try the basement."

She could hear the click of bones as his head snapped up to gawk at her. "Are you quite mad?"

"Oh, most definitely." The incredulous undertone tickled her just enough to leave her grinning. "The basement's outfitted with old computers and tech. I'm sure if I can get them up and running again, I can find something useful. They at least gotta have data on what happened to the world, right?"

The book loudly slammed shut, dropped in his lap so he had both hands free to massage his temples. "Are you that eager to throw your life away?"

"As opposed to what? Sitting on my butt wasting my life away?" Marinette turned to see his face set in conflict, his eyes and lips twitching as Hawkmoth's sneer and Gabriel's detachment warred against one another. "Unless you're gonna do more than sulk and pout, I have nothing to say to you."

"And what, pray tell, are you planning to do about the monstrosity we purposely trapped down there?"

Marinette hoisted the naginata from her shoulder into her arms, the weight of the weapon feeling familiar in her hands, like she'd held it before. However, her ethereal familiarity with the weapon made her no more confident in the deed she was required to do with it, as evidenced by her shaking voice. "I'm… I'm going to pet him, what else?"

Next Time - Trust:

"You can't let them get into your head." Luka said as Adrien turned the tv off, "I heard the same junk when people thought I was trying to replace my father. Everyone gets real dead set on defending their heroes, even from their heroes' allies."

Adrien turned his frustration on the furniture, digging his fingertips into the material of his cushion until his knuckles flushed red. "I'm not exactly proving them wrong, am I?"

God, he really hoped Nathalie and Su-Han hurried up with those drinks. Being alone with Luka was awkward.

"I just got back from a meeting with our new Task Force buddies, and they're already gearing up to use my screw up in their advertising campaigns." He let out a dark, hollow chuckle, "Bet it would've been a gold mine if they saw me snapping at you like an ass."

Luka's eyes narrowed, his voice made for a low bass – the closest thing to aggression Adrien had seen from the man since Truth. "Don't do that."

Silence wrapped around them with a cold grip. Adrien let the chill weigh down on his head, his gaze falling forward to study the floor as Luka's shadow shrank away. Moments like this made him wish he could read people's hearts like Luka could, to see the truth behind the expected words and proper smiles.

He was a direct sort of man who longed for clarity, but he was left at the mercy of whatever Luka decided to expose.

When he raised his head again, he found Luka in front of the fireplace, looking into the flickering flames and finding their raging, vibrant rhythm reflected in his eyes. "You know, back at the mall, I… I saw it all happen. Again, and again."

Adrien knew that look, staring dead ahead in the abyss, into all the failed second chances looping for eternity. "You think with infinite chances you could find the solution to any problem, but no matter how many times I played that scenario back, I kept losing her."